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Kehlmeig's Journal
DATE, MONTH, 784: Setting out. The air is calm, the sky clear. Couldn't imagine better weather to start. DATE, MONTH, 784: A few minor bouts of airsickness, but otherwise things are progressing to plan. None of the men have been aloft this long. DATE, MONTH, 784: The Westwater Isles lie before us. My scouts tell me the chain is as long as Straegard north-to-south, though much thinner. Though warm and temperate on its southeastern and eastern side, near-constant manastorms off the northwestern coast have turned the upper island into a series of huge, jagged rocks. I have sent word that Lord Berekan be informed. They are magnificent. I have ordered that we dock at the closest city. DATE, MONTH, 784: We are camped outside Nënqytet, the capital and holy city of the Njerëzim, the humans who inhabit these Westwater Isles. I know, I know -- it seems too fantastic. Another, as yet undiscovered branch of our race? But it is true. As far as I can discover, they seem to be unrelated to the Har'wen bloodline. They are a dark people, tall and corded -- though this may only be one caste. I cannot say more, as they will not allow us inside of their walls, and so my men have only spoken to their farmers in the village a small distance away, as well as a band of messengers from their king, one Erbok Ujk. The fauna here is truly astounding. The dominant predator is a giant crimson wolf, which, at full size, is easily as large as a Drexian packhorse, and far more intelligent than any of our own breeds. The men have taken to calling them "bloodwolves". Climbing a nearby hilltop with my glass, I watched a pack of them hunt and tear to pieces a giant moose. I daresay they are even more deadly than the razorwing back home, though thankfully they lack the gift of flight. They are, however, possessed of an extraordinary jumping ability, powerful enough that they can cross the smaller gaps between isles. I watched them continue to feast on the moose carcass until they were bloated to the point of immobility. Disgusting. DATE, MONTH, 784: A small setback today. I received word that a bloodwolf got into the village and began messily devouring the farmers. Attempting to spread goodwill, I went with a squad of my best heavy pikemen to protect them. By the time they had arrived, half the men in the outer settlement were dead, and the wolf lay in the center of the village in a puddle of blood and body parts, rendered as immobile by manflesh as I had seen them become from moose. Still, the creature was attempting to drag itself through a doorway, snapping and frothing, toward a group of children trapped inside. My men engaged the creature, which severed Pvt. Frein's torso from his legs with a single bite. He was wearing full deepsteel plate. The others attempted to avenge him, but were wholly unsuccessful until a single Njerëzimi warrior arrived from the city guard. Armed with little more than a long knife, he leapt onto the creature's head and drove his blade into its eye socket. Without a word, he skinned the creature, nodded his head to me, and left, slinging the hide over his shoulder. I noticed his outfit already contained several scraps of crimson fur. DATE, MONTH, 784: These people are savages. My senior staff and I were invited to a "Reincarnation Ceremony." They seem to believe that their leader, a frail old man named Erbok Ujk (whom they tell me is, preposterously, 150 years old), is a reincarnation of the ancient deific head of the Temple of the Red Wolf, Belkjan Ujk. Today, he was to be reborn. In the center of the Red Temple, we gathered around a pit the color of dried blood the size of the Kehlmeig Estate. At one end of the pit stood dozens of muscled fighters, adorned only in red fur capes. At the other end were seven cages, each filled with the biggest bloodwolves I have ever seen. Seventy-seven beautiful young women were led into the pit. I voiced my worry to the Ujk, but he waved me away before speaking their gibberish tongue to a young man. He turned me to and translated: "Do not worry yourself. It is a great honor to be Përdhunuar by a Priest of the Wolf." I asked him what he meant by that word. "I am sorry...I do not know the word. Watch, and you shall see." We turned to the pit. The women were standing, naked, in the center. They seemed strangely calm. The men, however, were practically frothing at the mouth, howling in the manner of wolves and...stroking themselves. At a nod from Erbok, his dual high priests blew great black horns. The men rushed forward and fell upon the girls, who offered no resistance. They...I hesitate to call it rape, but it was savage. They had their way with the women, and then...they cut them to pieces. By the end, each man was covered, head to toe, in blood. I was too horrified to speak, but I called my honor guard close and begged them to make my escape ready. At the death of the last girl, Erbok stood. The men returned to the far side of the pit, weaving slightly as though drunk. Erbok tottered slowly to the center of the pit and stood atop the pile of bodies. He shrugged off his robe. Slowly, he dipped his fingers in bloody pile and traced a series of intricate symbols across his body. Then he sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes. A bass chanting started among the gathered crowd, gaining volume and intensity until I thought my skull would burst. The wolves were released, and Erbok sat, chanting, as he was torn to shreds. Most of the men then rushed the wolves and were quickly devoured. The translator turned to me: "Those with too much ferocity are quickly devoured." A few men, seeing the ferocity of the killing of their brothers, were frightened and ran to the edge of the pit. They, too, were quickly eaten. "As are those without any ferocity of all," continued the translator. A few men, though, had only sat and watched, gathered together in the center of the pit. "The true inheritor, the great Ujk, will display the perfect mix of njerezim and wolf. He is the perfect warrior." As we watched, the men moved as a pack, killing one wolf at a time. Occasionally, one warrior would stray too far from the pack and be devoured. One man lost an arm to a single bite and continued fighting as his life sprayed from the shoulder wound. Eventually, growing pale, he threw himself into the open jaws of the largest of the bloodwolves. After what seemed like an eternity, there were two left: one man, and one wolf. They circled slowly, sending ripples through the lake of blood and entrails they carefully stepped through. My vision swam. The scent was horrifying. I felt the bile rise in my throat. The tension was unbearable. Just when I thought I could take no more, both figures exploded into action. The man seemed to run along the surface of the blood, and the wolf's footfalls were of such power that the pool split before her. Leaping higher than I thought possible, the man landed lightly on the end of the wolf's nose and cartwheeled forward, dragging a long black knife down the length of the beast. Her back split, revealing a row of sharp white vertebrae. Whipping around, she snapped at him. but missed by a fraction of an inch. The man laughed, a deep belly guffaw, as he danced away from the frothing jaws. He seemed intoxicated, sick with glee. The wolf, too, seemed to smile, the edges of her black lips pulling back impossibly far, almost to the neck. She made a low sound and slumped forward onto her haunches. Her nose bubbled in the dark liquid. The man's demeanor softened. He approached the wolf and stroked her muzzle. Her head alone was the size of his torso. Laying his forehead on the wolf's, the two shared a moment of contemplation. Silence blanketed the hall. The wolf's breathing slowed. Both of them opened their eyes, and the wolf opened her jaws. To my astonishment (though I doubted seriously that anything could surprise me at that point), the man climbed into her open maw and was swallowed whole. "What...what? This is monstrous!" I said aloud. The translator looked at me, and anger glittered in his eyes. "Be silent, ghost-man. This is a sacred time. Now we wait in quiet contemplation. As you are not of us, you may leave. Return in one mooncycle to witness the rebirth." I returned to my ship, and planned how best to end this madness. DATE, MONTH, 784: K returns slightly before the one month period with the full force of his fleet. He captures the upper echelons of the priesthood and ruling class, and executes them to the last man in the traditional method (throwing them off the edge, which infuriates the local populace, as they value the body and blood and see falling as a "waste") K sends off a message informing Lord Berekan of the pacification of the Isles, and takes command. After a few days, the rebirth happens. The teenage Voskin Ujk awakens and fucks his shit.